


Put on Your Brave Face

by ItsADrizzit



Series: Deleted Scenes [5]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Denmark National Team, FIFA World Cup, FIFA World Cup 2018, Feelings, M/M, Stand Alone, Vincent's Birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-25 13:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14978408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsADrizzit/pseuds/ItsADrizzit
Summary: Christian isn't one to give in to the pressures placed on him as one of the top football players in the world, but some days it all gets to be a bit too much.Or…it's Vincent's birthday, he's just down the street, and Christian needs someone to lean on right now.Everyone needs an adult. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be one around."One look at your brave face makes me a braver man."This work is part of a series of related works, but each can be read as a stand-alone story.





	Put on Your Brave Face

**Author's Note:**

> It took a while for me to actually find the idea of "what happens when Vincent is watching Christian play at the World Cup" that I set up in [We're Less Than Half as Close as I Want to Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928626). I knew I wanted to write something, but I couldn't find any inspiration. I also wanted to write something around Vincent's birthday since I wasn't able to execute my idea for Christian's birthday fic.
> 
> Then, I turned on some music and my man Frank Turner inspired me again. Title and fic inspiration from the song "[Brave Face](https://youtu.be/OSMNKCwtOwQ)"
> 
> I had every intention of posting a podfic of this fic along with the text, but this took longer to write than I had hoped for and life is such that I can't get to it just yet. I do still hope to post one later, though, so stay tuned if you're more podfic inclined!
> 
> I like this, because it's a little bit of role reversal for once.
> 
> Unbetaed and honestly minimally edited, since I wanted to get it done and out there. You've been warned.

Chris heaved out a sigh as he sat down on the edge of his hotel bed and flopped backwards, staring up at the stark white ceiling and taking a moment to breathe.

The team had been rushing around most of the day—early morning travel to the city of Saransk where their match would take place the next day, a short training session after lunch, meetings and strategy sessions in advance of the match—and this was the first moment Chris had gotten to sit down and relax a bit before the chaos hit them all for real.

The World Cup had started in a whirlwind with days of training squeezed in between team meals, press conferences, and media appearances, but tomorrow…tomorrow they would take the pitch for the first time. Tomorrow, their World Cup began in earnest. This wasn't Chris's first time at the competition, of course. He'd had the honour of being the youngest player at the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. He hadn't factored in much, and Denmark had crashed out after the group stage, managing only three goals and three points from their three matches, so it was a bit ridiculous to think of himself as a World Cup veteran, but many of his teammates had never gotten the opportunity to represent their country on the world stage before, so perhaps the fact that this wasn't brand new to him made him an expert of sorts.

He certainly didn't feel like an expert.

 _Landsholdet_ had a hard-fought road to be here in Russia, and Chris knew the team was relying on him for leadership and guidance both on the field and off. It wasn't a role Chris had wanted, but it was one he'd learned to slot into in recent years for both club and country. Tonight, though, on the eve of his first match, Chris wished he had someone else to look to for a little while. Ordinarily, he would have turned to Mousa and Jan and Toby, but they were almost five hundred kilometres away in Moscow preparing for their own match.

15 June. The night before his first World Cup match as the unofficial leader of _Landsholdet_ , the eyes of a country turned to him. He'd carried them this far, could he carry them the rest of the way?

Vincent's birthday. He turned twenty-four today.

Twenty-four felt like a lifetime ago to Chris. In many ways, Vincent felt like a lifetime ago.

He'd jetted home to London once his season with Fenerbaçe had ended, everything he owned packed into a backpack and three suitcases. Chris had welcomed Vincent back into his life in an instant, all too willing to honour the promise he’d made back in December while curled up around Vincent on the sofa in Chris's spare room. ‘ _If you do come back…I think, you should stay here. With me_.’ Chris hadn't planned to say those words; hadn't meant to push their relationship to that next step, but once he’d spoken them, they'd felt nothing but right.

A week after Vincent had arrived, Chris had flown away to Denmark, telling Vincent he should feel free to stay at Chris’s house in London as long as he liked and come and go as he pleased. "What's mine is yours, now," he'd said with a grin, and Vincent had wrapped him up in warmth and love and kissed Chris so tightly he'd wished he didn't have to leave.

He had left, of course, because Vincent was his light and his love, but football was his life. He'd see Vincent in a few weeks, anyway.

Except it hadn't worked out that way.

Vincent was in Russia with him, Chris had seen to that with an awkward Christmas gift that had fallen a bit short of expectations, Vincent's face falling flat as he pulled the bright red shirt emblazoned with the Danish flag out of its packaging and frowned at it.

“So…for Christmas you wanted to remind me that I’ll be spending my summer alone watching you play matches on the television. Yes, Christian, that’s a lovely gift.”

Chris has meant it to be sweet—more of an "I think of you as family and a part of me and who I am" than an "I'm sorry your team wasn’t good enough to get into the World Cup", but he had understood how Vincent could misconstrue things. They'd laughed about it in the end, of course, once Chris had explained his motives.

The gift had been a sentimental one, and Chris wasn't ordinarily one for sentiment, but he'd always gone a bit out of his head where Vincent was concerned. His friends made sure to remind him of that every chance they got.

He and Vincent had spoken the previous day…a quick call over FaceTime even though Vincent had been laying in a hotel bed a few streets away from where Chris lay in his own…and the moment Chris mentioned his birthday Vincent had shrugged the whole thing off.

"It's your birthday,” Chris had said. “You deserve a celebration."

"You have bigger things to focus on. Win your match on Saturday and that's enough of a celebration for me."

Chris should leave things alone. He should join his teammates in their makeshift lounge, watch the group stage matches being played today, and be in his room and in his bed at a decent hour.

Instead, he picked up his phone, slid his headphones into his ears, and rang Vincent on FaceTime.

After the sixth ring, Chris was about to give up and assume Vincent was busy. With what, he wasn't sure, but he hoped Vincent had found something to keep himself entertained instead of spending his birthday sitting around a hotel room on a Friday evening during his summer holiday.

Chris was about to press the button to end the call when Vincent's face flickered into view on his screen. " _Hallo_!" He waved down at the phone camera.

Vincent's face was plastered in a wide grin. In the background, Chris could hear shouts and laughter and music and the buzz of a thousand different conversations, but Vincent was holding the phone too close to himself for Chris to get any glimpse of the setting behind him.

" _Hoi_ ," Chris said, keeping the conversation in Dutch. " _Hoe gaat het_?"

Vincent beamed again. " _Heel goed, dank je_. We thought we'd join in the FIFA Fan Fest before dinner." He pulled the phone away from his face a bit and angled it down so Chris could see the Danish flag on the chest of Vincent's t-shirt.

"This month, I'm a Dane!" he said, moving the phone back to his still grinning face.

Chris shook his head, but gave Vincent an affectionate smile. " _Båtnakke_ ," he said, teasing Vincent in Danish.

"What?" Vincent asked, crinkling up his forehead.

"Exactly," Chris said.

Vincent was still frowning at him, and Chris couldn't help but laugh. "I'm glad you're out having fun at least. I know you said not to worry about it, but I do feel bad about not being able to see you on your birthday."

"Ehh, it's fine," Vincent said, waving his hand dismissively. "You have more important things to worry about. I can take care of myself."

"I know, but…"

"Anyway, Roman is here," Vincent said, then looked over his right shoulder as he switched into English. "Say 'hello', Roman."

"Wha--?" Chris started, but before he could get the whole question out Vincent had pulled the screen back to show another face, leaning in over Vincent's shoulder and waving towards the camera.

Chris raised his eyebrow, then gave a polite yet hesitant wave at his phone screen. He knew Roman Neustädter, or, at least, they'd met one another in passing on the pitch a few times before, although he couldn't recall ever having a proper conversation with the man.

Roman and Vincent had become fast friends upon Vincent’s arrival at Fenerbaçe, and Vincent had chattered on about him incessantly to the point that Chris had started to wonder if Vincent might have deeper feelings for Roman. At first, it had bothered him. A lot. But then he'd thought maybe it would be better for Vincent if he could be with someone in his own city again. If Vincent was happy with Roman and decided to stay in Istanbul, Chris would smile, wish Vincent all the best in his life, and figure out how to move on with his own.

When Chris had asked Vincent about it though, trying to casually slide it into conversation as though Vincent wasn't going to see right through his lame attempts at subtlety, Vincent had exploded into hysterical laughter

"Roman?" Vincent had all but yelled in-between gasps of breath, his entire face red as he tried to suck air back into his lungs. "You think…Roman…and I…and…oh god Chris that's the best thing I've heard all week."

Chris had scowled down at him, waiting in silence for Vincent to stop laughing.

"Are you done now?" Chris had asked, and Vincent had nodded, biting his lip to keep any more tiny giggles from escaping.

"Can you tell me what's so funny about the idea that you might, I don't know, feel more than friendship for one of your teammates? It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, right? I don't know Roman, I admit, but the way you speak about him…he seems good for you—always there, supportive, you get on well. So, why not?"

"Why not? Because Roman is like…" Vincent cast his eyes towards the ceiling in thought.

After a moment, he snapped his fingers and brought his gaze back down to look at Chris. "I know! It's like…if at Ajax someone had suggested you might have romantic feelings towards Jan or Toby. Roman is…" Vincent shrugged, "He's nice enough, and we are good friends, but it's nothing more than that. I know it's strange to say it because it's not as though he's been here much longer than me, but he's like a mentor of sorts. He helps me…think things through, if that makes sense."

It had made sense, and Chris had never questioned the relationship between the two again. Instead, he’d let himself smile at the television whenever he happened to catch one of Vincent's matches, and Roman was the first to reach Vincent after he'd slid home a goal, sprinting the length of the field to wrap Vincent in a bear hug and lift him from the ground. Chris had laughed along with Vincent when Roman had interrupted Vincent's post-match interviews, not visible from camera but doing something that had Vincent laughing so hard he could barely speak in response to the questions.

On screen, the camera tilted back to show only Vincent's face again, and Chris gave him a smile. "I'm glad you're not spending your birthday alone."

"Yes. Although, honestly, I wouldn't have minded. But Roman said he'd fly in from Moscow for the evening, so it's nice. He's been a good guide, so far. From here we are going to dinner and then…who knows."

"Good," Chris said. "That's good."

"We're excited for your match tomorrow. Danish Dynamite, yes? I can't wait to see you play again. It's been too long. But you will win, because you are the greatest of all time! I should know. I get to play alongside you." Vincent flashed him an encouraging smile that Chris tried his hardest to return.

"Yes, well. I think you have a clear bias."

In truth, he wished he had half of Vincent's confidence about the result of tomorrow's match. Chris wasn't prone to nerves, generally speaking, knowing that all he could do was step out on the pitch and do his best and let things work out the way they were meant to work out, but this match felt different. This was the World Cup. The eyes of Denmark and the whole world were on him. This World Cup might help determine his whole future. He didn't usually give in to pressure, but in this case it all felt a bit too much.

"Hmmm," Vincent said, putting his index finger to his lips as though deep in thought. "Perhaps. But it doesn't change my mind."

"Well, then. I hope I don't disappoint."

He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice as he spoke, but Vincent knew him too well. In an instant, his eyes fixed directly on Chris's through the screen, his face serious. "Christian. You're a good player. One of the best. You will do well."

"I know," Chris said. "I know my abilities. It's just…" he let out a deep sigh. He hadn't wanted to bring all of this down on Vincent on his birthday, especially not while he was out with his friend laughing and having fun, but the truth was, Chris needed a bit of reassurance for once.

Vincent was here—in the same city—and Chris wasn't too proud to admit that he needed him.

"I wish I could see you," he said, his voice soft, and coming out a bit more ragged than he'd meant it to. “Everything makes more sense when I’m with you.”

"I know, but…you have a match tomorrow. A World Cup match. One of the most important of your career. You can't jeopardise it for a bit of time with me. I'd feel—"

"That's the problem though," Chris blurted out, words and feelings he'd been holding back even from himself spilling out of him in a rush. "The problem is that tomorrow I have to play one of the most important matches of my career and I feel like I might explode. I'm stuck in this hotel and all there is to do is pace around and wonder 'What if my best isn't enough? What if I let the whole country down? What if I can't score or I can't make the right plays and what if we don't even get out of our group?"

Chris pressed his face into his hand, but yanked his head upward again at the sound of Vincent's low laugh in his ear.

"I'm glad you think this is funny," Chris snapped at him.

Vincent held up his hand, palm towards the screen in a placating gesture. "No, no no no _lieveke_. It's just…you sound like me. Where's all that wise advice you’re always giving out?"

He widened his eyes dramatically and put on his best mock-serious tone to mimic Chris. "'You can only do so much.' 'Give it your all and know you've done your best.' or, my personal favourite, 'There are ten other people on that pitch equally as responsible for what happens as you are.'"

"Okay, okay. Fine,” Chris said. “I deserved that. But it turns out it’s a lot easier to say those things when you're not the one the whole country is counting on. ' _Christian Eriksen is the key to Denmark's success_.' ' _The eyes, and hopes, of a nation rest on one man_.' ' _Denmark will go as far as Christian Eriksen takes them_.' It's all so…how am I supposed to live up to that? I know my skill and I know my game and I know football, but this…"

"Whatever happens, happens, right? And we'll get through it together." Vincent said, once again throwing one of Chris's oft-uttered phrases back at him.

He flashed Chris a grin, dimples winking at the corners of his cheeks. Chris wished he could lean in and kiss them, one after the other, feeling the scratch of Vincent’s stubble against his lips.

"Yes, well."

They wouldn't go through it together though, not really.

Although Vincent was here, he may as well be thousands of kilometres away back in London or laying in the sun on some beach somewhere for as often as Chris had gotten to see him.

They'd been in the same city for the duration of Chris's stay in Russia. Vincent, with some help from Roman, had booked flights and hotel rooms in each city Denmark would visit over the month, but aside from a quick dinner out one night when Hareide had given them a night off, they hadn't been able to catch more than a spare five minutes together or wave at one another across a hotel restaurant for the better part of a week.

When Chris had asked Vincent to come support him in the World Cup, he'd known they'd have to make due with small snatches of time together. He’d prepared himself. Football needed to be his focus, not Vincent, but right now he felt like the one thing that might hold him together until tomorrow would be the warmth of Vincent’s arms around him and the soft comfort of Vincent’s presence.

Chris was good at compartmentalising. He was good at pressing down his feelings and letting his rational side take over. But sometimes, he needed someone to hold him close and stroke his hair and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

"I'll be fine," Chris said. "Don't worry about me. I'll go watch today’s matches with my teammates and try to get my mind off things. You enjoy your birthday. Make sure you have an extra slice of cake for me since I can't have one, okay?"

"Are you sure?" Vincent asked. "Because I can…well, I don't know what I can do, actually. It's usually me in that situation and you always seem to know just the right thing. I admit I'm a bit rubbish in the inspiration department. But I do believe in you, and I'll be there for you. Whenever you need me, okay? I'm here. Just call."

Chris took a deep breath and straightened himself up a bit. "Go have a good dinner. I'll speak with you tomorrow."

"After your big win." Vincent's grin took over his face and Chris couldn't help but return it.

"Right. Happy birthday, _liefje_. I love you."

"I love you too." Vincent pressed his lips to the camera, as was their custom now—so used to only seeing each other across a screen—and Chris followed suit.

Vincent drew the phone back again, gave Chris one more encouraging smile, then angled the camera to show Roman giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up before the screen went dark and Chris was left in silence, his mind racing and his body aching for the comfort of Vincent's touch.

 

* * *

 

Chris paced around his hotel room, too restless to sit still. After his call with Vincent, Chris had made his way down to the team lounge, hoping that watching some of the day's matches with his teammates would take his mind off things.

It hadn't worked, and after about twenty minutes his head was back to spinning and he had excused himself saying he was tired and wanted to unwind a bit to get ready for tomorrow.

Not that he was accomplishing any sort of unwinding. In fact, he was managing quite the opposite.

The hiss of traffic and the faint sounds of shouting and music drifted up to his room from the streets outside. He peeled back the curtain and stared out at the grey stone buildings of the city, leaning over to take in the sweeping curve of the stadium where their match would take place less than twenty-four hours from now.

Below, he could just make out the flash of lights from the staging area the city had set up for the fans to gather and celebrate their teams. He thought about Vincent and his grin as he shifted his phone to show Chris the Danish flag across his chest and the hints of pride in his voice as he proclaimed himself a Dane for the month.

Half a year ago, _Oranje_ had crashed out of qualifying and missed out on their second international competition in a row. That failure had hit Vincent hard, and Chris had understood. _Landsholdet_  had only just dragged themselves into this competition and in many ways Chris could easily imagine a scenario where he'd be once again watching the World Cup as an outsider.

He wondered if he would be able to smile and put his full support behind _Oranje_ if their roles had been reversed.

Chris was starting to regret asking Vincent to follow him to Russia. In so many ways, things were much easier when Vincent was half a world away and Chris knew that pulling Vincent close and kissing the worries off his lips was an impossibility no matter how badly Chris wanted it. Now…well…

He cut himself off. _It's impossible now as well. You can't let yourself start thinking about Vincent. He'll be there tomorrow, cheering you on, but tonight you have to rest and focus_.

Except he wasn't resting, and the only thing he was focusing on was how terrified he was that he'd let his entire country down.

Chris lifted his phone from where he'd set it on the bedside table to charge. Vincent was at dinner with his friend, and Chris shouldn't interrupt. He should let Vincent enjoy his night and not burden him with a whole host of insecurities that weren't his to deal with.

He turned on the screen and opened his WhatsApp. ' _How's birthday dinner? Did you have extra cake for me?_ '

Vincent likely wouldn't answer, and that was okay. He should be out enjoying himself.

Chris sat down on the bed and lay back, head resting in his arms, staring up at the circles of lamplight on the stark white hotel ceiling. The noise from outside still drifted in—bursts of music and laughter, everyone caught up in the party-like atmosphere of the competition. Chris had never been much for a party, but he had to envy all the people on the street for whom tomorrow might be just another day.

He let his eyes drift shut, hoping that maybe if he tried he could shut out the world and crash into sleep. He tried to focus on his breathing, the way he'd been taught--deep breath in, feel it rolling through your body, hold it, let it out slowly, repeat--the action lulling and soothing like a wave. Count the breaths, focus, take your mind off your thoughts and just breathe.

When the door to his hotel room clicked open, the noise rang out like a gunshot in the stillness and made him jolt so hard he nearly toppled off the bed. He shook his head a few times to clear it, then huffed out a few quick breaths, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

"Alright, Chris? Did I wake you?" A voice called out. Viktor Fischer, his roommate during their stay in Russia. He'd known Viktor for ages now, and the two had grown close during the years they overlapped at Ajax, so he’d been all too glad to room with him for the trip.

Chris rolled to the side and sat up, scooting down so his feet were on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Yes. Or, I mean, no. Or…yes I'm alright, and no you didn't wake me. Well, not really."

Viktor said nothing, just gave Chris a little tip of his head as he crossed the room and dropped into one of the chairs next to the window.

"You're not watching the matches?" Chris asked.

"Halftime,” Viktor said.

The two sat in companionable silence for a while. Viktor sprawled in the chair and scrolling through his phone, occasionally laughing or rolling his eyes at something and then tapping out a response. Chris swiveled around to see his own phone still on the table where he'd abandoned it. He hadn't heard the buzz of a new message, but he might have missed it as he was drifting off earlier.

He slid away from the foot of the bed and lay back, shifting the pillows so he could prop them up between his head and the wall before reaching for his phone.

He flipped his WhatsApp back open to find a message waiting for him—a dimly-lit photo of Vincent in what looked to be a dark wooden restaurant booth giving a cheesy grin and a thumbs up, a generous slice of some kind of cake sitting on a plate in front of him.

Chris smiled at the caption Vincent had included. ' _Too bad I have to eat all this cake without you_.'

' _Yes. I'm so very sorry for your sacrifice_ ,' Chris typed back in response.

He waited a moment, trying to talk himself out of sending the next message, but followed it up with. ' _I wish I were there to share it with you_.'

In an instant, Vincent's reply slid in. ' _I’ll be more than happy to share my cake with you after you win tomorrow_. .'

' _Hmmm. Well if that isn’t an incentive to win I don’t know what is_.' Chris typed back.  
‘I _t’s too bad cake is forbidden right now_.’

After a few minutes with no reply and no notification that Vincent was typing a message, Chris set his phone back down and turned to look at Viktor, who was still intently staring at something on his own screen.

"Viktor do you mind if I—" Chris started, but was interrupted by the buzz of his own phone against the table; once, then twice, then a third time.

Viktor was staring up at Chris expectantly, and Chris waved him away. "Never mind, I guess."

Chris grabbed for his phone, then fumbled around on the table for where he thought he’d left his headphones, but by the time he'd manage to locate them the call had ended. Chris slid his headphones into his ears anyway and dialed Vincent back.

" _Hoi, Lieveke_ ," Vincent said, his voice low and rich in Chris's ear, a tone Chris had learned long ago meant Vincent was drunk, flirting, plotting something, or some combination of all three.

" _Hoi_ , yourself. How was your cake?" Chris asked.

"Cake is always better when you’re there to share it."

Chris smiled. "True. It’s too bad I won’t get to try any tonight. Especially since it’s your birthday and all that."

"Hmmmm, maybe," Vincent replied, dragging the words out a bit.

Definitely some combination of all three then.

"What are you up to?"

"Well…who says you can’t. It's my birthday and I want to share my cake with you."

Vincent's words were clear, without any of the fuzziness at the edges that usually crept in when he'd had a drink too many, but…what?

"Are you drunk?" Chris asked, a bit too loudly. He'd been trying to keep his conversation quiet, but Viktor's head shot up at the question, and Chris had to wave him away. He was speaking in Dutch, of course, but Viktor had spent enough time at Ajax that he knew the language nearly as well as Chris did.

"No," Vincent said. "Or…not really. I only had two drinks, but the bartenders in this country aren't fucking around. It just…seemed like you might want some. Cake, I mean. With me."

They were definitely not talking about cake anymore. Was Vincent honestly suggesting what Chris thought he was suggesting? The thought made his breath hitch a bit as his blood started rushing to his groin.

"What are you…? No. I have…I can't just…I'm…no."

"I know. But…”

“No,” Chris said, waving his hand in the air and shaking his head down at the phone even though Vincent couldn’t see him. “Whatever you’re about to say, no.”

“ _Christiaan_ ,” Vincent said, the pleading tone in his voice laced with a hint of longing and, oh, fuck, Chris hated the way Vincent could make him feel simply by uttering Chris’s name.

“I…you know I can’t. Cake is…forbidden. I have to stay ready for the match and all that.”

“That’s what I’m trying to help you with. Roman and I were talking over dinner and…I just thought…I have a lot of experience with what you’re going through—the night before a match, laying awake wondering if you'll be good enough or if you'll let the country down—I get it.”

Chris supposed Vincent was probably right, in that. He had to spare a small smile at the thought of the absolute role reversal they were going through right now. Usually it was Chris convincing Vincent he could rise to greatness, but tonight Chris was the one who needed to borrow a bit of Vincent’s bravery, for once.

“Remember that time you flew to Amsterdam to see my match?" Vincent asked.

"Of course," Chris said. How could he forget? Chris could think of very few people that would inspire that level of stupidly rash behaviour in him.

He'd rearranged his schedule, flown into Amsterdam on a whim, and called his ex-boyfriend whom he hadn’t spoken to in five years to get him tickets for a match he had no business attending, all because he could see in Vincent's eyes and hear in his tone, even through a phone screen and a tiny set of headphones, how much Vincent needed him.

That was the day he’d reached “peak stupid,” as Toby liked to call it. It was also the day he’d realised the true depths of his feelings for Vincent. For as much as he'd tried to tell himself Vincent was gone and it was better for both of them if they moved on, Chris knew from that day on that he'd do anything in his power to be by Vincent's side whenever he needed him.

“So,” Vincent continued. “I was thinking of how much that meant to me. How much it helped me. We'd lost and I felt…completely wrecked, drifting and lost and like life was falling apart around me and there was nothing I could do about it. I'd scramble to pull the pieces together but all I managed to do was drag everything down even farther. God, Chris, when I turned the corner into that tunnel and I saw your face it was like…in an instant, despite the ache in every muscle and the sick feeling in my stomach and all of it, I couldn't help but feel like everything was going to be okay because you were there and we’d get through it together."

He paused, silence filling up the entire space between them before he finally spoke again. "So I thought…you're always there for me. You know what I need and when I need it most. So why shouldn't I…"

Vincent trailed off, and Chris could hear his short huffs of breath on the other end of the line for a few seconds. "I thought maybe it was my turn to be there for you."

The words came out of him in a rush, his voice a bit choked as though he'd had to force the words out. "You're going to say no and that it's stupid, and you’re right, but I figure if you can do stupid things for me then I can do stupid things for you, right?"

When Vincent put it that way, it sort of made sense, Chris supposed. Chris would move the whole world to see Vincent’s smile, so why shouldn’t he expect Vincent would do the same.

The thing was…it wouldn’t be Vincent doing something stupid and reckless this time, either. Chris had a match tomorrow. He was under curfew. Vincent was a footballer on holiday taking in the festivities, Chris had his entire career, in some respects, riding on what he did this summer.

But, God, what he wouldn’t give to surround himself in Vincent.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. _Stay calm. Stay rational. Think about your whole life, not just this one night_.

"I'm not sure that's how it works,” He said, forcing a laugh even though the corners of his eyes were stinging and his whole body felt burning hot. “Doesn't somebody have to be the adult here?"

"Probably,” Vincent said, “But we both know it's not me."

They both started laughing in earnest at that.

The truth was, they each had their moments of making monumentally stupid decisions as far as this relationship was concerned. On the surface, Chris came off as the rational, level-headed one, but if he really thought on it, Vincent was the one who stepped in as the voice of reason more often than not.

"So…” Chris said, once they’d both managed to compose themselves, “What stupid thing are you doing tonight, then?" He’d regret the question, he knew, but he’d already resigned himself to once again making the absolute worst choice possible and hoping the benefits would outweigh the consequences.

"I'm…" Vincent said, dragging out the word for as long as possible. "We're on our way to your hotel. Roman's driving. There's a carpark out back so I can meet you at the back entrance. I won’t stay long, I promise. Just a quick hello and a hug and then I'll go. I just…"

"No," Chris said. "No. Absolutely not."

The last thing he needed was to sneak Vincent into the team hotel. Vincent might say it would be no more than a minute, but Chris knew himself too well. There was no way he could stand less than a metre from Vincent and not need to kiss him until neither of them could breathe. He also knew they'd never been any good at stopping there.

Talking would lead to touching. Touching would lead to…well, things he definitely wasn't going to do in a hotel corridor. Especially not when any number of his teammates or the coaching staff could wander past. And it wasn’t as though he could smuggle Vincent up to his room. What was he supposed to tell Viktor, ‘ _Hey, do you mind bunking up somewhere else overnight? I know we have a match tomorrow, but I’m so nervous I might explode and I need Vincent to help me take my mind off things_?’ Nope. Not a chance.

"I…look, I'd love to, I really would, but you know as well as I do where…these things always end up." Chris flicked a glance at Viktor who now had earplugs in and was still staring intently at his phone. He probably wouldn’t overhear whatever Chris was talking about, but that doesn’t mean Chris needed to elaborate any more than he already had.

"It…doesn't have to end up like that?" Vincent said, although his tone came out more questioning than confidence-inspiring, and Chris huffed out a laugh.

"You know better. We both like cake too much."

Vincent huffed out a laugh at that, but when he spoke, his tone was less joking and more serious.

"I need to know you're okay, Chris. I need to know that I wasn't here, in the same city, a few kilometres away, doing nothing when I could have been with you kissing the worries away from your face and telling you that I'll be in those stands tomorrow believing enough for the both of us. The same way you would for me."

Vincent's voice was filled with such love and longing and affection and everything Chris needed at that moment. He felt what little resolve he'd managed to draw up around himself shatter into a million tiny pieces.

"I'm okay," Chris said, careful, trying not to let his voice break.

"You're not," Vincent said.

"I can't…" Chris said.

"I'm already here. Waiting for you."

Chris sucked in a breath, his chest and throat tight as he held down every emotion and every word of love that threatened to spill out of him. Vincent was right. Chris needed someone to lean on tonight. If Toby were here he’d be threatening to lock Chris in his hotel room and stand guard until it was time for team breakfast the next morning. But Toby wasn’t here, and Vincent was.

This was the new moment of peak stupid in Chris’s life, and it might cost him the very match he was trying to get out of his mind, but if there was one thing he'd learned over the past year and a half of his life, it was that when it came to Vincent he would always make the worst possible choice and he would never regret it for a single second.

Chris was pretty good at making sense out of things—thinking it all through and keeping control, but this thing with Vincent had never made any sense and he’d certainly given up any ideas of control long ago.

All he knew was that he and Vincent had learned a lot about navigating life on their own, but they were so much better when they could get through things together.

"Okay," Chris said with a sigh.

He'd almost certainly regret this, and he had no idea how he was going to make it work, but at that moment he didn't quite care. "But…not here. Stay where you are and I’ll be down as soon as I can. And I can’t stay all night, I’ll have to be back in a few hours, but…it’s something, at least. Right?”

"Yeah," Vincent said. “It’s something.”

"This is really stupid."

"Absolutely idiotic. I’ll see you in a few."

 

* * *

 

Chris hung up the phone, rolled to the side, and shifted so he was seated at the foot of his bed.

What had he just agreed to?

Sneaking out of the team hotel on any night was ill-advised and irresponsible. Sneaking out the night before a match was borderline idiotic. Sneaking out the night before a World Cup match was insanity and probably grounds for some pretty severe disciplinary action from the football association.

Yet here he was, trying to come up with a plan to do just that so he could spend a few hours with Vincent.

The hotel was big, but he still didn’t think he’d be able to just disappear for hours without at least making Viktor a bit suspicious. If he said he was heading down to the lounge to watch the matches, Viktor may offer to head down with him or turn up there later himself only to find that none of their teammates had seen Chris.

Saying he was hungry and was heading out in search of food was an option, but it wouldn’t explain why he’d been gone so long. Plus, Viktor might ask Chris to bring something back for him.

His best option would be to tell Viktor he needed to duck off to the hotel wellness centre to unwind for a bit.

Or…he could fill Viktor in, promise him he’d be back as soon as possible, and ask him to cover in the event that anyone happened to come by their room and ask after Chris.

It was a big thing to ask of a teammate, and the odds were good he might have to disclose more information than he wanted to, but Viktor was a generally good sort and Chris considered him a friend. In fact, Viktor was one of the few people who knew about Chris's messy past with Daley Blind and that knowledge had never changed a single thing between the two of them, so if anyone on _Landsholdet_  had to learn about Vincent, he supposed Viktor was a decent choice.

"Hey, Viktor," Chris called out waving a hand around wildly to get Viktor’s attention, since he was still focused on his screen with his earplugs in.

"Mmm," Viktor pulled out one of his earplugs and looked up at Chris expectantly.

What Chris should do at this point was wave a hand say "nothing, never mind" and go about his evening in a sensible way.

"Can you do me a favour?"

Viktor said nothing, but raised his eyebrows, waiting for Chris to continue.

"Okay, so…” Chris took a moment to suck in a breath and let it out slowly before continuing. “This is a bit huge, and you're welcome to say no, but…"

“Consider me intrigued,” Viktor said, yanking out his other earphone and dropping his phone to his lap.

Chris let the silence hanging in the air, desperately hoping he’d chicken out or the rational part of his brain would suddenly decide to start working again and he’d send Vincent a message saying ‘ _Never mind, I can’t risk it_ ’ and they could forget the whole thing.

"I need to go out for a bit, can you cover for me?" Chris asked, the words rushing out of him with the release of his held in breath.

"You…what?" Viktor asked, eyes narrowing as he scrunched up his nose at Chris.

"I need to go out for a bit. I'm not going far and I promise I'll be back by, say, 22:00? 23:00 at the latest. I know we're on curfew and we have a match, but I…" he trailed off, not wanting to get into the specifics of 'I need you to help me sneak out of our hotel because it's my boyfriend's birthday and I'm making him spend his whole summer flying around Russia instead of on the beach with his family and I feel like I at least owe him tonight and also I am freaking out and I just need him to hold me for awhile until my heart stops pounding and my head stops spinning and everything makes sense again.'

Viktor had straightened up in his chair, now, angling his body so he could face Chris. His face was still scrunched up in confusion. "You need to go out?" he asked. "Like…out, out? Of the hotel?"

"Yes," Chris said. "Not far. And I won't be gone all night or anything, just…"

Viktor shook his head and raked his hands through his blond hair. "Christian…what? Where are you going? What on earth can you possibly have to do out on the streets of Russia the night before a match? You're the last person I'd expect to be sneaking out of the team hotel. Ever. This is really more of a Bendtner sort of thing. Where did this rebellious streak come from?"

Chris shook his head. Not rebellious, just stupid. The same way he'd always been where his love life was concerned.

He stood from his bed and reached his arms over his head, taking a moment to enjoy the stretch of sore muscles and the feel of joints snapping back into position.

"Never mind. Forget I asked. I can…I’ll call back and let them know it’s not going to work out. It’s not important."

"Bullshit," Viktor said. "Listen, I'm seriously bored, so I'll help you, but you have to tell me where you're going. If you end up lost or kidnapped on the Russian streets and I have to take the fall for it, I at least want to let the police know where to start looking."

Chris let out a laugh at that. Leave it to Viktor to immediately go to the worst case scenario.

"I'm meeting…a friend," Chris said. He paused, unsure of how to continue. Vincent was a friend, that part wasn't a lie, and he could trust Viktor to not give away his secrets, but that didn't mean Chris needed to reveal all the information up front.

Viktor was still staring at him expectantly, and Chris let out a sigh. Nothing for it, then. He supposed that was fair. If he was going to ask Viktor to potentially take a huge fall for him, he at least owed him an explanation.

"Look," Chris said. "I don't want to tell you who I'm meeting, okay? It's better for everyone if I don't."

"You're making it sound like you're involved in gang activity or something, Christian. Mafia? Or at the very least some kind of drug deal or weird orgy."

" _For fanden_ ," Chris said, raising his eyebrows at Viktor. "Really?"

Viktor held out both hands, palms up. "Listen to yourself. I'm going out to meet a secret friend, but it's safer if you don't know who. It's like some kind of spycraft or something."

"It's…okay yeah, that's fair," Chris agreed. "It's nothing like that, though, I promise. I just…I'm meeting a friend. It's his birthday and he's in town for our match and…it would just…it would be nice to see him for a bit."

"Ahhh," Viktor said, a knowing smile on his face. "So it is about a boy. I thought it might be."

Chris felt the colour drain from his face as Viktor’s words sank in. He tried to speak, to ask Viktor what he meant and how he’d known, but all that came out was a strangled noise and then,"Oh, God. You…what? I…oh God,” before he buried his face in his hands and flopped back to his bed.

Viktor's laugh rang out from across the room, echoing off the walls in the tiny space, and Chris spread his right ring finger and middle finger apart so he could peer through Viktor at the gap.

I'm glad you're amused," Chris said, finally finding his voice. "How did you…? Oh God."

"Christian," Viktor said. "We're friends. I know you well enough. We've been roommates for the better part of a week now. Do you think I haven't noticed the way you're constantly looking around to see if anyone is watching before you check your messages so no one sees the little smile you get on your face when you’re furiously typing back? Do you think I missed the way you seem to conveniently disappear for a while only for me to find you somewhere with your headphones on grinning down at your phone like an idiot?”

Viktor shook his head and gave a lighthearted laugh. “I’ve been in enough relationships to know all those signals. And now you, the rational, level-headed, always-overthinks-everything one of us, is sneaking out of the hotel to meet 'a friend' and not telling anyone where you're going? I know you better than that. The only time I've ever seen you like this is when…well…" he trailed off when Chris held up a hand.

He really didn't need Viktor to finish that statement. He’d started to patched things up with Daley back in October, but it was still a subject Chris would rather not speak about.

"Okay," Chris said. "Fine, fine, fine. It's about a boy. I'm still not telling you who it is, though."

Viktor didn’t look convinced. He leaned back into his chair and sucked in both his cheeks, staring at Chris for long moments.

"Deal. But you do have to tell me where you're going."

"Honestly…I don't know exactly."

"That inspires confidence," Viktor said. “I can’t wait until someone comes by and says oh, hey, by the way, where is Christian and I have to shrug and say ‘I don’t know exactly, but I promise you he’s in Russia somewhere.’”

“Fine,” Chris said, reaching for his phone. “Let me try to find out.”

He opened his WhatsApp and typed out a message to Vincent. ‘ _Where are we going?_ ’

Vincent’s response came in almost immediately. ‘ _Back to my hotel._ ’

‘ _Where is that?_ ’

A longer time passed. Chris sat staring down at his phone screen, conscious of Viktor’s eyes fixed on him from across the room.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Chris’s phone buzzed with Vincent’s response.  
‘ _Roman says it’s not far from yours._ ’  
‘ _A few kilometres._ ’  
‘ _Practically down the street._ ’

Chris took a moment to type back a ‘ _thanks_ ’ before looking back up at Viktor.

“I’m only going a few kilometres to a different hotel. I’ll be in a car the whole way.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “Whose car? Who do you know here?”

“No one,” Chris said. “Roman is  picking me up. Honestly, Viktor, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “Roman? Roman who? Bürki? God Chris, are you fucking Roman Bürki?”

Chris stared at him for a few seconds, blinking, trying to get his bearings in the weird turn this had taken. “Why the hell would I be fucking Roman Bürki? I don’t even know Roman Bürki.”

Not that he knew Roman Neustädter, either, but at least they’d had a few conversations before.

“So who is it then?” Viktor asked.

Chris rolled his eyes at Viktor in annoyance. He supposed there was no harm in telling Viktor. It wasn’t as though Chris and Roman were actually involved. Roman was nothing more than the getaway driver on this ill-advised covert mission.

“Roman Neustädter,” he said, then held up a hand to keep Viktor from saying anything. “And no, I’m not sleeping with him, either. He’s the driver. That’s all the information you’re getting out of me.”

Viktor held up both hands in surrender. "Okay. But, you'll be back tonight, right? Because honestly, I don't think it will be too hard to convince everyone you're just in here asleep, but if I have to make excuses for why you're not at breakfast in the morning I'm honestly not sure what I'll say. I'm terrible at this sort of thing."

"No more than a few hours. I promise. You'll cover for me if anyone asks? Say I'm asleep or I went for a walk around the hotel or I went down to the wellness center or something?"

"Honestly, everyone will be watching Spain against Portugal, so as long as you're back before the end I doubt anyone will even know you're gone. I'll head down to the lounge and if anyone asks I'll tell them you went to bed early. They'd believe that before they'd believe you'd left the hotel, anyway."

Fair point, Chris supposed. Everything he was doing here was so incredibly out of character that he wasn't even sure _he_ knew what to expect from himself anymore.

"Okay," Chris said. "In that case, I'm off. I'll try to, I don't know, text you the address or something. But honestly, I'll be fine."

Viktor just shook his head, blue eyes flashing at Chris. "Whoever you're going to meet had better be worth it. Because you know this is like…the worst idea ever, right?"

Chris puffed out his cheeks as he let out a slow breath. "I really do."

He stepped away from his friend, then grabbed his phone, his billfold, and his hotel access card and started shoving everything into the pocket of his joggers, then stopped.

Vincent wouldn't care what Chris was wearing, and odds were better than good Chris wouldn't be wearing it long anyway once they'd gotten safely sequestered away in Vincent's hotel room, but it was Vincent's birthday and the only night they might get to spend together for a long while. Chris dropped everything back to the bed, texted a quick ' _I'll be down soon_ ' to Vincent then started rummaging through his suitcase.

He hadn't brought much with him other than training gear and loungewear, but he dug through the t-shirts and hoodies and joggers until he managed to extract one of his pairs of jeans. They were Vincent's favourite, dark-wash distressed denim with a hole at Chris's left thigh just above his knee that Vincent liked to cheekily skim a thumb across during dinners just to laugh at Chris's gasp of surprise at the brush of skin against skin. The hole was nearly double the size now after all of Vincent's worrying at it through their months together, but Chris didn't mind.

Chris stripped out of his joggers and into the jeans then swapped out his Denmark hoodie for a plain white t-shirt. It was summer and although the temperatures here weren't nearly as sweltering as they'd been on the coast where _Landsholdet_  had their training base, it was warm enough.

He rescued his abandoned phone, wallet, and access card from the bed and distributed them amongst his pockets. That was one reason to wear a hoodie—the extra pockets—but everything he'd brought with him was DFB branded and if he was going to sneak out of the hotel he figured the least he could do was not conspicuously label himself.

On his way to the door, he ducked into the small washroom and rubbed the slightest bit of aftershave behind each of his ears, then slipped back into the hotel room and gave Viktor a wave.

"Viktor, thanks. I owe you."

"You really do," Viktor said. "Hold on. Let me go first and make sure there's no one in the hall. I can…I don't know run interference or something."

Viktor grabbed his own phone and access card and yanked the hotel door open, sticking his head into the hallway and turning it theatrically side to side, as though this were some kind of movie scene where the main characters were trying to creep out of a building without alerting the bad guys. Chris could only imagine what it might look like should anyone happen to be walking by, and he had to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh.

"Could you be any more conspicuous?"

Viktor straightened up and looked over his shoulder at Chris. "I never claimed I'd be convincing. I just said I'd help. Now let's go. I'll walk you out."

 

* * *

 

Viktor insisted on leading the way down the corridor to the lift, coming to a sudden halt and peering comically around each corner while Chris alternated between trying not to burst out laughing and regretting every single thing about asking Viktor Fischer to help him with this already ill-advised plan. Somehow, they made it to the back entrance of the hotel without seeing anyone, save a few members of the cleaning staff who’d just laughed and shaken their heads, at Viktor’s overdramatics.

At the back door, Chris put his hand on the latch and turned once more to Viktor. "Okay. You got me here, although honestly I'm not sure how since I'm pretty sure you were doing everything possible to get us noticed short of running through the corridors yelling 'We're doing something illegal'."

"I want to make sure you're in the car safe."

Chris flashed him a look. "What are you, my mother? I'll be fine. The car's right there, see." He pointed out the window to where a black SUV was pulled up to the door, passenger side towards Chris, two figures visible in profile in the front seats.

"I'm not just going to walk away while you get in some random car with random strangers," Viktor said. "Seriously, Chris, if you end up missing and kidnapped I'll be the one taking all the blame."

"You just want to find out who I'm meeting.”

Viktor dropped his mouth open and pressed his right hand to his chest in mock affront, "I would never.”

"Bullshit." Chris yanked the door open and stepped out into the carpark. The day was still bright, the hour not yet late enough to have shifted towards sunset, and Chris held up a hand against the sun.

Vincent was leaned back in the passenger’s seat of the SUV. His brown hair—cut through with reddish highlights in the late afternoon sun—was cropped summer short, although still long enough on top for Chris to run his hands through. His skin was underscored with a golden glow from his time spent lounging on the beaches lining the Black Sea while Chris was sequestered away at training.

He stared out the open window towards the door of the hotel, his elbow propped against the window well. When he spotted Chris, he leaned forward and gave a wave and a wide smile.

"Is that…? Who is that?" Viktor said. He followed behind Chris as he made his way towards the car, squinting against the sun in an attempt to identify the occupants.

"As if I’d tell you?" Chris said at the same moment that Vincent leaned out the window and yelled “ _Hallo, Viktor_!”

“ _Tak for kaffe_ , Vincent Janssen!” Viktor exclaimed from behind Chris, a teasing laugh in his voice. “Of course it is. You and your Dutch boys.”

Chris felt a hot flush creep into his cheeks and resisted the urge to spring to the car, fling the door open, and tell Roman to drive away as quickly as possible.

“Yes,” Chris said. He’d reached the car, but instead of climbing straight inside he leaned against the side next to Vincent’s open window and turned around to face Viktor.

“It makes sense, actually,” Viktor said, then, switching the conversation into Dutch for Vincent’s benefit, snapped his fingers and added, “Wait! Were you two together when we all went out in London last year?”

Chris wanted to throw himself into the car and sprawl across the backseat out of sight and hope by the time he’d gotten home Viktor would be asleep and they’d all be too focused on the match tomorrow to finish this discussion.

“I have to go,” he said. “What good will it do to sneak out of the hotel if we just stand around in the carpark waiting for someone to look out a window and see us?”

Vincent leaned farther out of the window and ruffled Chris’s hair. Chris swatted at him, but Vincent just grinned.

He gave Viktor a nod and a thumbs up, and Viktor did a little fist-pump in front of himself. “Yes! I knew it! I asked Toby and Jan and they said they didn’t know. Liars. Damn. I bet Lassë you were, too, after we all went out in Copenhagen last summer. I don’t suppose you can tell him I was right so I can collect on my bet?”

“ _Verdomme_ , you’re betting on my sex life now? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Viktor shrugged, and Chris shook his head.

“How does Lassë know anyway? Did you tell him?’

“Christian, do you really think the entire team didn’t notice the situation with you and Daley? I’m pretty sure Daley told at least half of us and the other half…well, you two weren’t exactly subtle. Don’t worry, it’s not like any of us are ever going to say anything.”

What he meant was that Daley wasn’t exactly subtle. Chris had done everything he could to maintain a professional distance from Daley whenever they were with the team, but Daley had never really seemed to care who knew what about his life. It was one of the things that had ultimately led to their disagreement and eventual breakup.

“One more reason for me to kick Daley the next time I see him,” Chris said. “ _Godverdomme_ I wish _Oranje_ was in this tournament.”

To Chris’s right, Vincent cleared his throat loudly.

“Right,” Chris said, flashing Vincent an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Vincent said. “I like being reminded of my failures on my birthday.”

His tone was light and joking, but Chris knew his unintentional comment had probably rubbed a bit of salt in wounds that weren’t fully healed yet. He’d have to make it up to Vincent later.

“Ahh, yes, it’s your birthday,” Viktor said. “ _Gelukkige verjaardag_!”

“Yes!” Vincent said, “ _Tak_ ”

Viktor raised his eyebrows at Chris. “He speaks Danish now? Must be serious.”

“He likes to pretend he speaks Danish. Now go away, I have places to be.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Viktor said.

Chris didn’t respond, just opened the door and climbed into the backseat of the SUV, letting one hand brush across Vincent’s shoulder as he moved. Vincent. Here and tangible and real. His body and Chris’s in true physical contact after what had felt like a lifetime, but had in reality only been a few days.

"See you later," he called to Viktor out of Vincent’s open window.

"You'll be back tonight, yes?" Viktor said.

"Yes. Before the end of today's matches, I promise."

“Set an alarm on your phone! If you’re not back by midnight I’m calling you every thirty seconds until you answer.” Viktor retreated to the hotel doorway and pulled the door open, but didn’t go inside.

Chris waved at him, then leaned forward and said to Roman, "Hi, I'm Chris. Good to finally meet you. Alright if we go now?"

"Roman," the other man replied as he started the car and pulled forward towards the small street that ran alongside the hotel, “and the same to you.”

Vincent shoved his right hand around the side of the seat and Chris grabbed it, his thumb stroking small circles against Vincent's wrist, making Vincent’s breath come out in little stuttering gasps. Chris could feel Vincent's buzzing energy running through the shared link between them, Vincent's skin burning hot beneath Chris's touch; his own body thrumming in response.

For a long while, nobody spoke. Vincent stared out the window, and Chris tried to follow suit, but the anticipation of Vincent in his arms, Vincent's skin against his own and Vincent's lips on his all threatened to overwhelm him until he couldn't stand the weight of it any longer.

He needed a distraction before he did something stupid like unfasten his safety belt so he could lean forward far enough for his lips to find that sensitive spot behind Vincent’s ear, licking and sucking at it, waves of arousal rolling through them both at the sound of Vincent’s low, needy moans.

Chris cleared his throat, trying to force back the desire threatening to take over his body. "It's kind of you to fly in to show Vincent around, Roman."

Roman kept his focus on the road in front of him, but gave a little incline of his head. "Can't have Vincenzo wandering around Russia on his own. Someone has to look after him."

Chris gave a little laugh at that. From what Vincent had said, this whole ill-advised evening of sneaking out of hotels had been Roman's idea in the first place.

"He does need looking after," Chris said.

Vincent let out a little whine of protest, but said nothing.

"He's a handful," Roman agreed. "I will be happy to turn him over to you for awhile. I need some rest from this child. He has me running all across the world today."

Vincent started to speak up in his own defense just as Roman pulled into the carpark of another hotel and turned off the ignition.

“We have arrived, sirs,” he said with a mock bow—not easy while still behind the wheel of the car.

Chris smiled. He hoped he’d have time to get to know Roman a bit better in the future. He’d heard nothing but good about him from Vincent—how encouraging he’d been during training sessions and especially during Vincent’s long injury recovery, and how supportive and accepting he’d been of Vincent once he’d learned of his relationship with Chris and the added struggles the time away from London brought to Vincent’s life because of it. He'd been a good friend to Vincent and seemed like a generally good person, and Chris looked forward to meeting up with him during future holidays as he and Vincent bounced around the world visiting friends and family.

“Thanks for stopping to pick me up,” Chris said. “This whole scheme is definitely topping the list for ‘stupidest thing I’ve ever done’, but I couldn’t have done it without you, so…”

Roman laughed, then grinned over at Vincent. “ _This_  is the stupidest thing he’s ever done? What sort of no-fun, boring man have you found yourself, Vincenzo? Bring him to Istanbul and there we will have some fun.”

“With you? He couldn’t handle it.”

“Neither can you,” Roman teased. He climbed out of the car, leaving Chris and Vincent sitting alone, hands still entwined together for a few moments.

“We should…” Vincent said at last, tugging his hand a bit. Chris let go, severing the connection between them, although he could still feel the thrum of energy flowing between them as they followed Roman into the hotel.

Once they were out of the car and inside, surrounded by the soft glow from the lights of the hotel lobby, Chris took a moment to look at Vincent. He’d seen him a few days ago, of course. This wasn’t like their usual meetings where they’d gone months with no physical contact at all, having to make due with nothing more than disembodied voices or faces on screens. Still, Vincent was here, just under a metre away, and Chris knew better than to let an opportunity to appreciate Vincent’s physical presence get away from him.

He was dressed in his usual fashion—dark jeans, his black Nike trainers, and a plain black button down with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows to reveal tan, well muscled forearms. He’d actually buttoned up his shirt for once, and the fabric stretched enticingly across his broad chest. Whatever else came of Vincent’s year in Turkey, he’d certainly gotten himself fit. The red band of Vincent’s t-shirt collar peered out around Vincent’s neck, and Chris couldn’t help his smile at the thought of Vincent in his country’s colours with his country’s flag on the chest.

Vincent smiled back at him, dark eyes resting on Chris’s for the briefest of seconds before they both looked away, Vincent down to the floor; Chris turning to explore the hotel lobby.

Everything was dark wood and stone, accented with reds and greys and browns. To their right stood twin reception desks, more dark wood backlit with bright white lights that glittered down overhead. To their left, sofas and chairs—each covered in grey or red or gold fabric—had been arranged in clusters, interspersed with low, dark wood tables.

"I like this place," Chris said.

"Yes. Roman suggested it. It’s a nice place. He’s given me good advice. For once," Vincent teased.

Chris hadn't heard Vincent speak English in a long while, outside of the few interviews he'd caught online from Turkish television. His accent had flattened out during his time in Turkey into something more generically western European sounding, the rolling Dutch vowels evening out and the harsh Dutch consonants leveling out at the edges.

Roman waved one hand dismissively at Vincent. "So ungrateful, this child. Can you believe this boy? Vincenzo, where would you be without me?”

He turned to Chris with a slow shake of his head. “I stayed here once with the National Team. It was a nice place and is close enough to the stadium, so I gave Vincenzo the suggestion."

"Good that he has a local guide. Since I dragged him away from his summer holidays and forced him to trek around Russia for a few weeks."

“I was happy to come,” Vincent said, his voice quiet, his eyes trained on the floor in front of him. Chris wanted to wrap him in a hug and never let go.

People spilled out into the space around them, lounging in the chairs with various glasses of wine and other liquor, talking and laughing, some of them playing games of cards. Some wore the colours of Denmark or Peru, others dressed in nondescript t-shirts and jeans or flowing summer dresses with long-sleeves draped over the top to keep out the chill of the air conditioning.

The television was on, the match between Morocco and Iran still underway. Chris couldn’t see the score nor the time, but he was guessing it must have reached the waning minutes of the full ninety by now.

That gave he and Vincent just under three hours together. Three hours for Chris to crash into Vincent at full force and try to find the strength he needed to make it through the next day.

"What shall we do then?" Chris asked, as though they were just three friends celebrating together on an innocent night out.

Vincent’s dark eyes lifted, and Chris could read the deep, aching need behind the gaze. Neither of them dared make a single move towards one another until they were safely behind closed doors.

“Well,” Roman said, gesturing towards the people crowded near the televisions in the lobby. “Since Vincenzo is kind enough to let me share his room, I think I will be homeless for a time, no? I will stay here and watch the matches. Get into the local spirit. You’re welcome to join me, of course.”

"Tempting,” Chris said, “But I believe Vincent mentioned something about sharing his cake."

He took a step towards Vincent and reached out to press a hand innocently to his forearm, Chris’s own body giving a little rolling shudder at the hitch in Vincent's breath and the way his entire body tensed under the touch "I assume that offer is still on the table, yes? Because I'd quite like some cake."

"Oh god, Chris," Vincent groaned out, his voice breathy and ragged, his face flushed.

Roman gave a laugh and reached over to ruffle Vincent's hair. "I think you had better take Vincento upstairs before he bursts. I will be here."

Chris could not possibly have agreed more.

He gave a tug to Vincent's wrist, pulling him out of his stupor as they headed towards the lift. When they stepped inside, Chris was careful to press himself into the wall farthest from Vincent, creating as much distance between them as he could.

They managed the short ride to Vincent's floor, then half jogged down the corridor to the door, Vincent fumbling the keycard out of his pocket along the way. He slammed it against the lock so hard it tumbled out of his hands without clicking the mechanism open, but Vincent twisted at the latch and shoved at the door anyway, desperate to force it open.

Chris pressed a palm against Vincent’s wrist to still him, then crouched down and retrieved the small card from the floor and lifted it towards the lock moving slowly and trying to radiate calm, although his entire body was trembling.

The lock clicked and the handle turned and they surged into the room. The moment the door slammed shut behind them, they collided into one another, mouths crushing together, hands grasping and groping and sliding beneath clothing as they tripped towards the bed, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in their wake.

Vincent’s body was burning hot against Chris’s own, his mouth tasting of sweetness and the slight tang of alcohol. They collapsed onto the bed, still kissing and sucking and licking. Vincent’s hot hands running the length of Chris’s torso and Chris’s hands doing the same as he slipped them down Vincent’s back to graze against the curve of his ass. Every move they made grew more frenzied, both of them desperate to press their bodies closer together; to sink deep beneath skin and into bone—merging their two bodies into one.

 

* * *

 

Later, the two lay tangled together in Vincent's hotel bed—bedclothes twisted up beneath them and pillows discarded in a semicircle around the floor.

Chris rested his head against Vincent's chest, eyes closed, breathing in his scent. They'd crashed into each other with urgency, their kisses filthy and the sex driven by raw lust and desire until both of them had collapsed to the bed, sated and breathless.

"Well," Chris said, one finger tracing a line up the defined muscles of Vincent's torso. "That was…"

Vincent huffed out a low laugh, his breath ruffling the fringes of Chris's hair. "It was. I didn't…it wasn't too much, was it? I'd hate to think that after all you'd gone through to be here I fucked you so hard you won't be able to move tomorrow."

Chris looked down at the bruises already starting to form at his hips and around his biceps. They had been rougher than usual, Chris begging Vincent to press in closer to give him more to bring their bodies together harder, and Vincent had gladly obliged.

"I admit, it's not outside the realm of possibility," he said, then laughed. "And how good will that explanation be? Sorry Hareide, I can't play because my entire body is sore down to the bones. No, no…it's not from training too hard, I assure you."

He slid upward until his lips could press against Vincent's. This time their kisses were softer, filled with gentleness and tenderness. Vincent wrapped strong arms around Chris, pulling him in and holding him close, enfolding Chris's body in his soft, comforting presence. Chris relaxed into the embrace, letting Vincent lean them both back against the mattress.

Vincent broke away from their lazy kisses, leaning down to rescue one of the discarded pillows from the floor beside the bed. Chris missed his heat instantly, his skin prickling as he let out an involuntary little shiver.

"Are you cold?" Vincent asked.

Chris shook his head. "No. You're keeping me plenty warm."

He yawned and gave a little stretch. His body would ache tomorrow, he knew, but right now he felt nothing but relaxed. The time with Vincent had unwound the knot of tension that had buried itself deep within Chris. Right now, laying here in this bed surrounded by Vincent's warmth, their shared scents lingering in the air around them, his whole body felt loose and light, a world away from training and press conferences and headlines and the pressures of representing his country in the biggest sporting event in the world.

No matter what happened tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after, for right now everything was okay. Chris wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in Vincent's arms, soothed by the gentle rhythm of his breath and the slow, steady pace of his heartbeat beneath Chris's ear.

Because Chris was strong and he was brave, but every once in a while he needed someone else there to support him, and Vincent was the bravest, strongest person he knew.

"Thank you," Chris whispered into the stillness of the room. Outside, the sun had set and the room was dark, lit only by the ambient light of the street that managed to reach the windows on the upper floor of the hotel.

"Me?" Vincent said. "You're the one who snuck out of your team hotel the night before a match just to come here and let me fuck you like I hadn't seen you in months."

Chris rolled back into Vincent, both of them content to just lay still, wrapped up in each other.

"You know what I mean," Chris said. "Thank you. For being here."

" _Christiaan_ " Vincent said, speaking Chris's name in that soothing, sensual, loving way he had, somehow able to communicate the full depth of his feelings through that one word. He leaned in and gave Chris one more slow, tender kiss, their tongues and bodies both sliding together.

Vincent broke away first, eyes now more pupil than iris in the dark room. "As if I'd be anywhere else. Just like you told me one night back in Amsterdam…I'd go anywhere for you."

He hugged Chris to his chest and Chris leaned in, wriggling around until he and Vincent were lying face to face on the mattress, their heads both resting on a shared pillow. "I know. But…thanks. It can't be easy for you, spending your holidays in Russia, surrounded by the buzz of the World Cup and knowing you're nothing more than a spectator. It's a lot to ask, now that I think about it, and I can't imagine the difficulty of it."

"I love it," Vincent said. "Sure, it was hard at first, but I think now it is better."

"How could this be better?" Chris asked.

"Because if I were playing, I couldn't be here with you. I'd have my own worries and you'd be the one trying to patch me together from hundreds of kilometres away. This way, I go where you go and when you need me, I am there. I get to sit in the stands and watch you play again—my beautiful _Christiaan_ —and stand and cheer and tell everyone that I always knew you would be great."

"What do you mean, always?" Chris said, pressing a kiss to the bridge of Vincent's long, straight nose. "I was already great before we met."

Chris had expected Vincent to reward him with a playful shove or a roll of his eyes. Instead, he lowered his eyelids until he was down at Chris’s chest. He looked almost shy, the faint flush to his cheeks visible even in the darkened room from this closed in distance.

"I…" Vincent started, his body tensing a bit in Chris's arms as he tipped his head towards his shoulder and away from Chris.

It wasn't like Vincent to completely close off like this in the middle of a conversation. That was more Chris's specialty, if anything.

"Vince." Chris gave Vincent's arm a little squeeze. "Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me."

Vincent sucked in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "I've never told anyone this before."

"Tell me now. I'm lying in bed with you completely naked so I think it's safe to say we're beyond the stages of embarrassing secrets. It can't possibly be that bad."

"I used to watch you play," Vincent said, his voice coming out as little more than a low murmur. "When you were at Ajax."

"What?" Chris asked, more confused than anything.

"I was at Feyenoord. I was on the reserve teamwhen you came to De Kuip with Ajax and I watched the match. I was supposed to cheer against you, but…I kept almost jumping out of my seat and yelling for your attack. I couldn't take my eyes off of you Chris. The way you moved, your vision with the ball, the way you saw openings no one else could. You amazed me, even then."

Vincent squirmed a bit in Chris's arms, his voice faltering, but Chris pulled him close until Vincent's face was cradled against his shoulder. "I used to record all your matches and watch them in secret. I was Feyenoord through and through, back then, so I could never say anything—you played for Ajax and I was supposed to hate you, but I couldn't. I was captivated by you, and I always knew that you were a level above the rest of us and that someday you would be one of the best in the world."

He stopped talking and silence crept into the room. Vincent's breath was hot against his shoulder and he reached up to lazily run a hand through Vincent's hair—still stiff with the gel Vincent used to hold it in place, despite all their exertions.

How had Chris never known this? How, in all his time with Vincent—first as teammates, then as friends, then as something more that neither of them were willing to put a name to, and now both of them completely love despite the three thousand kilometres of space between them—had Chris never known that what Vincent felt for him had gone so much farther back than their year together in London.

Since his days at Ajax, Vincent had watched him. Meanwhile Chris had been blissfully oblivious to Vincent’s existence until his explosive year at AZ.

"Say something," Vincent mumbled against Chris's neck. "I just admitted that I had an enormous celebrity crush on you for four years before we even met. The least you can do is laugh and say 'oh, Vincent' in that fake condescending way of yours."

"I don't—" Chris started to protest, but Vincent cut him off.

"You really do. You don't mean to, but you do. But that's not the point here. The point here is I just voiced all my dirty secrets about being a secret fan for five years and you're not even saying anything."

“Is that the reason you moved to Spurs?” Chris asked. It wasn’t what he had meant to ask, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t on his mind now that he knew Vincent had admired him when he was still at Ajax.

Vincent jerked his head upward and glared at Chris through narrowed eyes. “I tell you this and that’s all you have to say?”

Chris sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I don’t know what to say. It’s…it’s a sweet story, Vincent. To know that even then you were watching over me, although I had no idea. I feel…well I feel a bit like I’ve let you down, I suppose.”

“Great.” Vincent said, dropping his gaze again. “I tell you that because I was trying to make you feel better and I just made it worse. Of course.”

“No. Oh, _liefje_ no. You didn’t.” Chris reached out and pressed three fingers beneath Vincent’s chin, encouraging him to look up and meet Chris’s eyes.

He did, and Chris leaned in to press another kiss against his lips.

"I suppose…what I meant was that I had no idea you knew who I was when you turned up at Spurs. I just…you have all these years of history and I have…well…I don’t have anything until the day we met. So I guess I feel like I have some catching up to do.”

Vincent let out a breath of a laugh and shook his head. “No good both of us being obsessive stalkers. Honestly, Chris, know one knew who I was back then. That’s not the point. The point is I’ve always believed you would be one of the best players in the world and you’ve only made me believe that more with every passing day.”

This time, it was Vincent’s turn to lean in for a kiss. It was chaste and gentle, the barest brush of lips against lips until Chris tugged Vincent in closer, opening his mouth to allow Vincent’s tongue to swipe against his own, just once, before he pulled away.

“And now I’m the luckiest in the world because not only did I get to share a field with you for a while, but I get to sit in the stands and watch you play and cheer your name proudly and think 'that is the person I love and he loves me too.' No one can ever again tell me that I’m supposed to hate you.”

“Not even if I play for Barcelona and you play for Real Madrid.”

That earned him a deep, rich laugh from Vincent. “The best I might manage is towel boy at Real Madrid, I think. Espanyol, maybe. No. You’re the one who will be great, and I will be supporting you and believing in you every step of the way.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Chris asked.

“It was a hard-fought battle, let me tell you,” Vincent said. “But in the end, it turned out you were worth all the headaches.”

“Well that’s good. I still feel like I missed out because you got such a head start on your adoration of me. I'd say I wish I'd known at the time but I was pretty…involved back then, so…"

"With Daley?"

Chris felt his chest tighten a bit, but he figured if Vincent could bare his soul about his teenage crush, Chris could admit his poor decisions surrounding Daley Blind.

"Yeah. We were a bit…well… _I_ was a bit in smitten. Daley was…Daley, if that makes sense."

"Total sense. Daley being Daley, I mean. You actually being attracted to Daley will never make sense to me."

"Honestly, it doesn't make sense to me, either.”

They both laughed at that, the sound echoing around them in the dark, empty space.

Chris pulled Vincent in for another kiss, taking his time, savoring the press of Vincent’s mouth on his own and the scrape of stubble against Chris’s own weeks growth of beard. The sensation was one that had grown familiar to Chris over the years, despite he and Vincent spending most of their relationship with almost no physical contact.

When they finally broke away, both of them breathless, their cheeks flushed, Chris gave Vincent a wide smile.

“I’m glad you told me. That you watched me at Ajax.”

Vincent groaned. “My most embarrassing secrets. I can’t believe I’m here spilling my soul.”

“I owe you some embarrassing secrets then. Anything you want to know?”

“Plenty,” Vincent said, but his words were cut off by the shrill ring of a phone, both of them giving a startled jump and wincing at the noise intruding the quiet of the moment.

Vincent was the first to move, rolling backwards and dragging himself out of Chris’s embrace then rooting around the piles of clothing strewn across the floor until he located his jeans. He liberated his phone from the pocket and jabbed at the screen until the piercing noise stopped and everything fell silent again.

“It kills me to say this,” he said, “But you’d better get up. It’s nearly time to leave. Do you need a shower first?”

Chris took a moment to appreciate the view. Vincent stood naked, bathed by the slight moonlight and backlit by the light creeping in the windows. God he missed that sight some nights.

“If I say no to the shower will you lay back down and let me have my way with you for ten more minutes?” Chris asked.

Vincent shook his head. “And everyone says I’m the difficult one in this relationship.”

He held out a hand towards Chris, offering to pull him from the bed. Chris took it and tugged on it, trying to pull him back down, but Vincent had been anticipating the move and stayed on his feet.

“Get up, _Christiaan_ ,” he chided. “What kind of Dane would I be if I sabotaged the country’s chances in the World Cup by holding their star striker captive?”

“I’m a willing hostage, if it helps,” Chris said, but he was already rolling over to climb out of his side of the bed. “You’re right though. As much as I would love to stay here wrapped up with you and never leave this room, I think Viktor may actually send out a search party if I’m not back before midnight.”

“Can’t have that,” Vincent said. “Plus Roman can sleep anywhere, but that doesn’t mean I should leave him to fend for himself in the hotel lobby.”

They both milled about the room, gathering up clothing and sorting out what belonged to who. Each of them pulling on boxers and socks and jeans as they uncovered them.

“It’s nice that Roman’s here,” Chris said.

“It is. He’s a good friend. I’m glad to have met him. We’ve spoken about getting a flat together perhaps, if I stay at Fener for another year.”

“Would you?” Chris asked, alarmed, jerking his head up from where he was trying to pull on his left sock to look at Vincent.

“Stay at Fener?” Vincent shrugged. “It’s an option. I’m not making any decisions right now though. Right now I’m focused one hundred percent on the World Cup.”

Chris let out a small laugh. “You’re not even playing.”

“No. But _you_ are. And I am here to watch, because as much as I love to play football alongside you, watching you play football is my next favourite thing.”

Vincent bent to retrieve his discarded shirt from where Chris had tossed it at the foot of the bed, then pulled it on, the fabric stretching tight across his chest to reveal the red and white of the Danish flag above the words “Forever Denmark”.

Ordinarily, Chris would have laughed at that—asked Vincent what bet he’d lost or given him a pop quiz on how to pronounce the hardest Danish words Chris could think of—but right now, with the match looming and Vincent wrapped in the colours of Chris’s home, all he could do was smile. His heart surging with pride and love for this beautiful Dutch boy who loved Chris so much he’d painted himself in the colours of a country that had never been his own. Vincent was so brave, so resilient, and so fearless; how could Chris be any less?

“Forever, eh?” Chris asked, and Vincent narrowed his eyes for a second before breaking out into a wide grin.

“Well, I mean, as long as you’ll have me.”

“So…forever, then,” Chris said, twining his fingers with Vincent’s before he pulled him into one last kiss, this one not filled with the lazy tenderness nor the insatiable hunger, but with every ounce of love and pride and joy he had.

“Whatever happens,” he said when they finally pulled apart.

“We’ll get through it together,” Vincent finished.


End file.
